Kaz

My Favourite Shoes

 

They are Heaven. If Heaven is extra, gold, neon and with a platform you could abseil down. And if it isn’t, then quite frankly I don’t want to go!

A tropical bird with an elaborate tail, these shoes know who they are. My finger tips glide over the sleek, smooth fabric, so soft to touch… but woe betide anyone who does. Look at me but don’t touch, murmur the sharp, beautiful, gold spikes. Joseph, step aside, because your coat has nothing on my shoes. They’re red and yellow and green- not brown- and as neon pink as my heart. When I slip my foot into one, I’m no longer Mum with a Bun. I am ten feet tall, I stand at the front for me and for us. I am fearless and powerful and strong. I strut, ideally towards somewhere that serves Espresso Martinis and appreciative glances. These shoes are everything I am on the inside. It doesn’t matter if we don’t go anywhere together, my shoes have the power to eliminate self doubt and remind me of who the hell I am, and all the women who have marched before me. Whether it be in heels that raise us, boots that support us or bare footed and grounded. We are all a technicolour, strong, soft, dangerous stiletto of femininity and power- ready to take our spikes to the groin of the patriarchy.

My slippers, trainers, boots; they all keep me going every day, but the spike heels- they have magical powers. They keep me marching to the beat of my own drum.